Scar Shadow
by Twists Of Destiny
Summary: When John is sent to prison, Dean was ten. When he recieved word of John's execution, he was fourteen. Now Dean has to break him out, flee to Mexico and live it down. It sure seemed easier on t.v. There is no innocence in prison.
1. Prison and Executions

Scar Shadow

Chapter 1

**Four Years Previously...**

Dean was ten when it started, he and six-year old Sam were researching a hunt, Sam was getting pretty good with his reading too. Especially with Dean's broader vocabulary and great teaching skills. John was sitting on his bed, oiling his guns.

That's when it happened; the door was kicked so hard that the hinges had nearly come loose. John stashed his weapon's, wrapping them quickly in a sheet and under the bed. Dean grabbed Sam and shot up, closing the books and backing to the furthest corner of the room. He shielded his little brother behind his back, almost completely blocking him from view.

Two men entered the room, one taller then the other and wearing shades. Dean watched as John stood up, either to protest or to fight back, but he was taken down brutally by the two cops.

Dean wanted to rush in and help him, especially when he heard the click of handcuffs. The only thing that stopped him, was the prospect of leaving Sam alone and unprotected. John was manhandled out of the motel room.

"John Winchester, you are arrested for. . ."

That was all Dean heard, that was all he wanted to hear. He grasped Sam to him and slid down onto his knees. Sam knew something bad was happening, he just wished he knew what kind of bad it was. He held onto Dean with almost as much pressure as he held being put on him.

John struggled against the cops, craning his head around to get a good look at his children. He wished they didn't have to see him go out this way. Damn cops, if only they knew what he really did, how many people he saved (compared to their track record of using mase as a new way to kill), they wouldn't be doing this. Or maybe they would, out of jealousy. Because they managed to save maybe four, five lives yearly. Pay would be crap and most of their day's would be spent behind a desk doing paperwork.

"Come on," Dean muttered as they left, he got up, ran to the door and locked it. "We got to hide the books and the weapons - come on!"

Sam got the books, stuffing them in John's duffle bag and Dean pulled out that plaster in the wall that was barely hanging on and dropped the weapon's covered in sheets in the hole behind it. He then grabbed John's duffle and shoved it in there, so they wouldn't find anything.

Dean picked up Sam as a bulky man and a thin woman walked in. The woman had platinum blond hair and bright red lips, almost like she was bleeding. She walked right up to the boy's, Dean backtracked, trying to keep his balance and maintain his hold on his baby brother.

"I'm Rose Buchater," she said. "I'm a - "

"Social worker," Dean spat, his voice almost like a hiss. His eyes narrowed until they were slits and he turned his mistrustful eyes back and forth from this Rose and the fat guy. "What have you done with our dad?"

Rose sighed, sparing a glance toward her partner. She had a feeling that this one wouldn't make her job easier. "I'm sorry, but John is a very bad man. I'm afraid he is going away for a long time."

Sam looked to his brother and then mimicked his expression back to Rose. She had a feeling that the little boy looked up to his older brother. She knelt down to eye level, only to recieve an enormous amount of spit in her face. She closed her eyes and held her hand out as her partner came to assist her.

Dean smiled victoriously, hacking a little to produce another round of spit. He paused only, when she stood back up and towered over him, coming in his personal space bubble. He glared insolently up at her, like he was daring her to try and do anything.

"Tell me your name," she demanded, cutting to the chase.

Dean laughed. "No. Sammy, why don't we blow this _funky town_?"

Sam's eyes widened at the codeword and he sealed his lips, willing himself not to say a word.

Rose sighed exasperatedly. "Please, make my job easier. I could just look in John Winchester's file back at the office, so either you tell me here, or I find out later."

"I'm Dean, this is Sam," Dean relented. "And you can go kiss my ass, bitch." God, he loved swear words. They came in such a good use in times like these.

Blinking in astonishment, she said, "Where did you learn such filthy language?"

"Around the same time you stuck your head up your ass. . . Wait, I don't think I was alive when you shoved it up there." Dean covered his mouth with his free hand. "My mistake."

Rose wasn't impressed by his attitude. Maybe he did this as a way to block people out, or as a result of having John as a father. All she wanted was to help get it out of him, help make him talk.

Dean arched his neck around her. "Who's Shrek?" He nodded toward her partner. "Or the Incredible Frankenstein I should say." He smiled when the man purpled with anger, trying to suck in his stomach unsuccessfully.

Rose ran a hand over his face. She had better luck conversing in civillised manner with a brick wall, then she ever would with this Dean Winchester boy. She saw that Sam's mouth was upturned into a smile and that made her heart hurt; poor child, having to grow up around all of this, it wasn't fair.

"Look, you'll have to come with us," she said bluntly. She had had enough of this.

Dean backed up again. "Uh, uh. I don't think so lady. You want kids, marry that guy and make some! I don't do taking off with strangers. _Piss off_!"

Sam nodded vigorously. "Yeah, piss off!" He piped up, coming to his brother's aid.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

Shrek grabbed Dean by the upper arm, only to be bent over double, grasping his area as Dean gave him a swift kick inbetween the legs.

Rose grabbed her radio. "I'm going to need back up. I repeat, I am going to need backup, over."

Within seconds, two more people were in the room. One pulled Sam out of Dean's arms. Sam screamed and bit, scratched, kicked and punched, doing his best to wriggle free of the man's grasp.

The other got Dean under the arms, having a harder time pulling the elder boy out of the room. Dean was kicking and stomping enough to bruise, and he hoped that would be a memory of him to this bastard.

A black S.U.V sat outside, another man inside it, sitting at the drivers seat. The back, sliding door was opened and the boy's were forced in the back, with the men as Rose got into the passenger seat. Both doors closed at the same time and immediately, they drove off.

Dean sat Sam on his lap, wrapping his arms around his little brothers waist tightly, protectively.

The house they went to was only for the night - Dean and Sam took off undercover of darkness, back to the motel to grab their belongings. It was almost completely deserted, except for the patrolling Police car.

Dean had hold of Sam's hand tightly, ignoring the fact that both their skin was getting sweaty, and harder to hold onto.

They decided for the back entrance; there was less and less chance of being caught if they went around there.

Sam was lifted onto one of the ladders, while Dean jumped up onto a dumpster and leapt like a cat onto the ladder as well, making sure his little brother did not slip and fall. The metal was not a pleasure to hang onto, there was an enormous amount of rust and mould on it, that seemed to have been there for centuries maybe.

When they got onto the back part of the motel, they counted windows and found their own, climbing from balcony to balcony. Sam ended up holding onto Dean tightly as he piggy-backed him the rest of the way.

Getting to their window, Dean pushed it up gently and sent Sam in first, before climbing through himself.

There was nobody in there, which the elder brother found weird, they had just arrested someone, shouldn't the place be swarming with cop's, trying to get something they could use against him, so he would be convicted.

Sam stayed near the window, standing to the side of it, thanks to a paranoid Dean. Dean ran to the bit of plaster and grabbed all three of their bags, stuffing the sheet-covered weapons in John's duffle. It was bulging, but it would hold.

He ran back to Sam and literally shoved him through the window as the door opened and cops came through.

"Hey, you!" One shouted.

Crap! Dean got his and Sam's bag through, going to throw John's bag out but it was ripped from his grasp. He got out, forgetting about the bag; his life was more important then that thing. He went head first out the window and rolled on his back and to his feet.

"Go, Sam!"

Sam picked up his bag and climbed down, his movements careful, unlike the quick and stealthy one's of his brother. When they got to the bottom, they broke out into a run as the cops on the ground came around the corner to get them. They ran as fast as they could down the alleyway, fast enough to put a lot of distance between them and the cops. Hopefully for good.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Present Day**

Dean and Sam sat in the motel room they were renting.

Sam was reading a few books he got from the library to entertain himself, while Dean was cleaning weapons that they had bought from being able to hussle pool like a pro. Dean had remembered from when John had taught him all those years ago.

It was still fresh in both brother's mind's about what happened the night their father was arrested. It still wasn't clear to them why exactly he had been apprehended in the first place. John didn't do anything particulary wrong. Though in most people's eyes, killing things that killed others was wrong. An offence.

The brother's still hunted from time to time, whenever there was a close hunt in the area. Dean seemed more preoccupied with other things to be strung up on hunt's that would get them no where.

Sam looked up from his book. "What are you doing?" he asked, getting off the bed to stand by Dean's side.

"Addressing an early letter to Santa," Dean joked, getting a weak chuckle from his little brother. "Nah, I'm just posting a letter."

Arching an eyebrow, Sam asked, "To who."

"To none-of-ya," Dean responded lightheartedly. "My private business, alright?"

"If you say so," Sam muttered and went back to the bed to keep on reading. "I just hope it isn't subscriptions to pornography magazines, like _Busty Asian Beauties_." It was funny the time when Dean had discovered it.

Dean smirked. "If I was, you would know about it." It was true, there was hardly anything that he kept from his brother, only the really important stuff that Sam didn't need to know about. That he was better off being left in the dark. He addressed the letter and stood up. "Come on. Time to go to the Post Office." There was hardly a time of the day when he left Sam alone by himself.

Sam marked his page and stood up, stretching. "Fine," he grumbled, too tired and bored to argue.

They were about five minutes away from the Post Office, so it wasn't much of a tiring walk. It was waiting in a long line for a stamp and actually sending it off that was the tiring part. Not to mention boring.

Sam decided to go off looking at all the different cards, smiling at the old people jokes and the twenty-one ones. There was one about turning twenty and a comment inside it about being unable to defy the laws of gravity and you were just going to get old and wrinkly.

Dean had gotten through the line and had his letter mailed off and they were walking back home. They weren't tight on money, so he treated Sam to some MacDonalds before going home.

Sam went back to his book and Dean flipped on the t.v when they got back to the motel.

They could be real lazy at times, Dean remembered when John was around, he'd tell them to get up and send them through drills for being so slack. His smiled lifted up his face a bit, though it was a sad one. Anytime he associated with a memory of his father, it was immediately followed up by the day he got arrested.

There was nothing on. Oprah, Dr. Phil, informercials and Day's of our lives. He settled for the infomericial. Eventually, he drifted off into sleep.

He was awakened by a vibration in his pocket and he sat up straight, looking around for the source wildly, before reminding himself that it was his phone. Looking at the indentification, he saw Bobby's name.

"Hello?" He answered.

Bobby's gruff voice met his ears. "How're you doing, kid?"

"Eh, as good as we can." There was a couple of seconds silence. "Is there something you called for?"

"Yes, actually," Bobby sighed. "Its about your dad."

Dean was immediately serious. He climbed onto the lounge and grasped the phone like it was a lifeline. "Bobby, what about dad?" He asked, wondering if he really wanted to know or not.

It took a long time for an answer, and it had already alerted Sam to the fact that something was wrong. He looked at his brother, who's eyes were wide, almost fearful. He wanted to know what was going on, though it was a long-shot that Dean would tell him.

"Your dad. . ." Bobby paused and Dean knew it was a lot of effort for him to get this out. After a few moments, with a sigh, Bobby began again. "I got a call this morning, from the prison. You know he has always listed me as his first caller, because you are always here. Well, the prison called and. . . Dean, he's on death-row. They are going to execute him."

The phone dropped from Dean's hand and he began to panic, until his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he lost consciousness.

**To Be Continued. . .**

**How was that? Now, this is a re-do of the original Scar Shadows-- Which never got far, to tell you the truth! Please review!**

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	2. A Young Life Lost

Scar Shadow

Chapter 2

**Please review! I'm starting to freak out lol. **

Sam immediately freaked out, his brother had just _passed out _on him. He scrambled off the lounge himself and picked up the phone, in which he could hear Bobby's voice, "Dean? Dean?"

"Bobby, he's- he's just passed out!" Sam cried, the ten year old wondering what he should do. "What- why did he pass out? What did you say to him?"

But the old family friend didn't answer him, instead he was throwing low cuss words at himself, for apparently being so idiotic to have told Dean what he did. "Just," he began after a while, not sure if he was allowed to tell Sam anything like this. "Just tell your brother when he wakes up, that it's on the 23rd of October 1994. Next year. Can you do that for me, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, remembering just after that Bobby couldn't see him. "Yeah, yeah I'll tell him. But how do I wake him up?" He was beginning to get frantic about his brother's limp form. And he still wanted to know what had caused such a reaction.

"He'll come around on his own," Bobby said, almost hopefully. "If he doesn't wake up in a couple of hours, call me back and I'll be down as soon as I can, ok?"

"Ok," Sam replied shakily, trying to make himself feel better. "Thanks, Bobby." He hung up and quickly pulled his brother fully onto the lounge, trying to make him as comfortable as he could. "Wake up soon, Dean."

An hour passed, seeing Sam pace and read. . . watch t.v. . . and then repeat the process all over again. Waiting, just waiting for Dean to wake up.

Then at last, as twenty-nine minutes was added on to that hour, a low moan elicited from Dean, and had Sam rushing toward him.

"Dean?" He asked breathlessly. "Dean, are you alright?"

The elder brother's eyes were blurry and his mouth was dry. He had no recollection of ever going to sleep, because all he had done was blinked. That was it. There was no dream, he was out and then up in what seemed like a flick of a switch.

"What happened?" Dean asked, swallowing gross-tasting lumps. The roof of his mouth was so disgustingly sticky, that his tongue would get stuck there for a couple of seconds, before he would pull it back down.

"You passed out," Sam explained simply. "Bobby said something to you and then you were down and out."

It all came rushing back to him. John was going to be executed, Bobby scared to tell him. Where had the family gone wrong? Sure, most people would answer that it started when the fire happened, but he felt that the roots were down deeper then that.

"Did he say anything to you?" Dean asked, getting up to quickly and suffered a momentary dizzy spell. "Sammy, did he say anything?"

Sam trembled a bit. "Y-yeah, he said it was going to happen. . . um. . . sometime next year - October 23rd next year!"

So they had little over fourteen months? "God. . ."

"Dean, what is happening?" Sam's eyes softened and misted over a little. "Its about dad, isn't it? I have a right to know, Dean. You can't keep this from me. At least, not for long."

He knew that was true, but Dean was willing to risk the wait. Then, he paused, looking at the look on Sam's face and sighed. "It is about dad. . . Bobby found out earlier today. He-he got a call from the prison, because he is dad's emergency caller or whatever. The prison called him to say that. . . he's being executed on that date Bobby gave you."

Sam's jaw dropped and speech almost failed him for a couple of seconds. "But. . . but I thought they had nothing to go on - we got all those bags out that night!" Dean dropped his head. "Oh no, you didn't leave dad's, did you?"

"I did. If I only got that one out first, the officer in there grabbed it and there was too many for me to turn around and snatch it back."

Sam clenched his fists. "We had the weapons and the books in there - not to mention dad's journal! God know's what else is in the damned thing, posters of missing people who haven't turned up yet. . ."

Dean sighed. "I know. And I also know what I have to do. Sam, stay here, I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Before Sam could protest, Dean had already grabbed his keys and was out the door.

He went to a shopping center and into a certain shop and took a look around, picking up items that might help him. He didn't get a lot of things, and only paid twenty dollars for it all. The drive back was more calming, sort of.

He could not help himself, he just had to check to the bag of his purchases, almost like he wanted to see if they were still there. That they had not disappeared after the last inspection. Sam had to be worrying about him right about now.

When he returned home, Sam was indeed trying hard not to worry, but the look on his face told all.

When he walked in, Sam jumped up. "Where did you go?" he practically demanded.

"To the shops," Dean answered simply.

"And? What did you get?" Sam asked, refusing to give up his questioning, despite the fact that it was bugging Dean already, to no end.

Dean sighed. "Hair dye."

That was confusing. "What do you need hair dye for?" he asked, trying to piece it all together, but the answers he came up with were somewhat inconclusive. "Dean, what do you need it for?"

"You'll see. Just stay out here."

So that's exactly what Sam did, despite how much he didn't want to.

Dean walked into the bathroom and closed the door, he reached in and got the dye and started changing his hair colour. He worked hard to make sure he got all sections of his hair, he had gotten three for when he grew his hair out, a little facial hair wouldn't do him too bad either. Better be safe then sorry, he did not want to look anything like Dean Winchester. It was too risky.

When he was done, his hair was completely black. He walked out of the bathroom and into the waiting eyes of Sam, who looked like he could have died from shock.

"Why did you dye your hair?" He asked, almost like he was dreading the answer.

Dean shrugged, hoping he could keep the secrecy up. "Just got sick of my natural colour," he said.

Sam knew something was up, he could almost sense it. Dean dying his hair straight after he found out their father was going to die in a year. Something was most definitely up with him. And he wanted to know why. Though if he pressed too much now, there would be a chance that he wouldn't get an answer later.

He watched Dean walk away, still gaping at the colour of his hair.

***

Two weeks later and Sam didn't even recognise Dean.

His hair had grown past his chin - which was unnatural for him. He was sporting stubble and. . . Well. He didn't feel like his big brother anymore. He had hit the gym a fair bit too, so his muscles were a tad more prominent than they had been. Not to mention he was kicking little brother out to be with Bobby, the man he had run away from in the first place.

Bobby and Dean had been having a heated argument that night, a first for them. Bobby didn't want him to see John at that point in time, and Dean was, of course, furious about it. A couple of insults had been tossed between them. That was when Dean picked up his belongings and little brother and disappeared out the front door, ignoring the older man's shout's to come back.

Sam didn't know what he was planning to do, but he could guarrauntee that it wouldn't be good. Dean had a knack for throwing himself in the line of fire, in order to get the person he loved out of it.

Catching the bus down near Bobby's house, they walked the rest of the way there, which took about five minutes tops. Bobby's reaction to seeing Dean was absolutely priceless in Sam's view.

When the old hunter answered the door, he whipped out the gun the moment he laid eyes on Dean, threatening him to get off his property. Only the sound of Dean's voice convinced him that he actually was Dean.

The gun was lowered. "Good God boy, what are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?" He said, shaking his head. "What's with the appearance change?" His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Your not planning on doing something stupid are you?"

Dean put on a face of mock-insult. "Well, I'm offended. Me, do something stupid? Unheard of. Nah, I just need you to take care of Sammy for a while."

Bobby wasn't about to take that and not say something first. "What about you?"

"I. . . ah, I have to do something."

Nope, not taking it. "Like what?"

Dean grinned. "Full of questions. You'll find out tomorrow, I bet. Just take care of Sam, ok? I'll see you. . . whenever I see you."

Bobby stood there, subconsciously putting a hand on the young Winchester's shoulder, watching the young man walk away. "Just stay out of trouble," he mutered, wishing he knew what was going on in that brain of his.

Dean had implanted the fake birth certificate, stating that he was Dean Campbell - his mother's maiden name. His father was now Bronson Campbell and he was born on July 27th 1975.

He got into the city in about five minutes and pulled out his gun, walking into the bank, which was crowded with people and took off safety.

"Nobody move!" He shouted, and the bank went dead silent. He lifted the gun directly over his head and shot seven rounds and everybody went down for cover, screaming.

Someone shouted, "Take the money! Just don't kill us!"

Dean hated doing this, though it was necessary. He was doing the one thing he thought he never would; pretend to be crazy to get into a prison.

He kept shooting, deciding to aim just above the people in the bank, right up until the area was swarmed by Police. He decided not to go out as soon as they ordered him to. So he shot at the 'bullet-proof' window and it cracked.

After fifteen minutes, he walked out, dropping the gun. Immediately, he was tackled by what seemed a thousand police and they managed to get hand-cuff's on him and into a paddywagon.

He never thought he would say it, but. . .

He was off to prison.

**To Be Continued. . .**

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